


A Series of Poor Decisions

by Vashoth



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Cassandra, F/F, F/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashoth/pseuds/Vashoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two thousand years after the industrialization of Thedas, Cha'cer Lavellan finds herself coming face to face with magic she thought had died with the legend of the Inquisitor. A modern AU love story for SolasxLavellan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blunder

**Author's Note:**

> Haha so you guys know how I just finished a huge longfic? (Champion, a Fenhawke doc for those of you just joining us). WELLLLLLLL. I'm doing another. Welcome to my second ever longfic. This one is flavoured with a heaping dosage of Solavellan with some side pairings thrown in for free. If bisexual Cassandra squicks you out, consider this your formal warning. 
> 
> And speaking of side characters, you may notice that Nebulads very own Saevin has made an appearance! She will be a recurring character for this series. It seems only fair that I include her in the future after Nebulad included Cha'cer in the ancient past.

…

I

…

The bookstore clerk had his eyes on her from the second she pulled her hood down. Cha'cer could practically smell the fear as his eyes traced the dark purple lines tattooed into her face to honour the halla goddess. It entertained her on some level that she could inspire such fear with only pretty purple swirls and a bit of eyeliner. She'd have thought the human feared the return of Anduril herself by the way he watched her move. He was right to worry, of course. She had every intention of robbing him blind. But it didn't excuse the casual racism. She winked at him and licked her lips suggestively before disappearing into the audio-books aisle.

Rows upon rows of antiquated cassette tapes sat on dusty shelves. Dim lightbulbs hung down from wire without any shades, the orange light reflecting off the plastic covers until the wall of labels looked like the world's most boring glass mural. She ran her fingers over the edges and shook the dust away. One long black painted nail tapped at each title she read, underlining the words. The Littlest Griffon, Elfroot in the Breeze, Swords of the Seekers, Tale of the Inquisitor, A History of Thedas... Ah.  _There_. She tugged the tiny tape out. The cover clacked against the rings she wore on her fingers and she handled it with care as to not scratch it.

She ran her thumb over the table of contents written in small print next to the blurb. Chapter Four: Dalish History. Perfect. She squinted to see if there was any mention of the role of keepers or their firsts but nothing stood out. Just a bunch of glorified human deeds, washing over the struggles of her people. Even the qunari got a nice label of efficiency. The Dalish were a scourge to be studied and avoided; arrested whenever possible. A ten years younger Cha'cer had barely been able to contain her contempt for the shem and their power over her life. Now that anger felt distant. Nothing terribly new.

Besides being angry wasn't nearly as satisfying as depriving the shems of their  _hard earned_  goods.

She tucked the cassette tape into the top pocket of her cropped jacket, snapping the button shut with a click. She moved quickly to pick up the next tape, Tale of the Inquisitor, and studied it with great interest as the shem clerk inevitably tried to casually pretend he wasn't finding excuses to re-arrange the display at the end of the row. She watched out of the corner of her eyes as he swapped from a look of worry for his precious merchandise, to checking out her ass, to a look of hatred. She gave him an innocent smile just when he was sure she wasn't going to look and followed him breezily to the register. He scanned the item with a scowl, and she handed him a crumpled up wad of cash. He counted the change out with a long suffering sigh and handed her the receipt. She thanked him in elvish just to twist the knife.

As soon as her boots hit pavement, she pulled her hood over her ears and face again. The grey sky above was spitting rain between the tall skyscrapers of downtown Haven. The morning fog had only just been taken care of by cold sharp winds that dug into the stitches of her skinny jeans relentlessly, finding each rip and tear that could possibly lead to warm skin. Cha'cer grit her teeth and put her headphones in.

The old pocket cassette player she kept in her bag was a finicky little thing. She'd found it while dumpster diving. It had to have been over thirty years old at least. Once upon a time it had been black, but it had faded to a sooty grey with rust breathing along the edges of the metallic buttons. The labels had all worn off from use. It had to be perfectly horizontal to play anything whatsoever, and even when the cassette was brand-new, would offer a healthy dose of static over whatever she may have been listening to. She plucked at the dent in the side where she'd yanked on it too hard once until the spring door triggered and she was able to slip the Tale of the Champion inside with a click. She shut the outer door once, twice, three times before it held itself together (though not before letting out a creaky threat to let loose as soon as she hit play).

Some old shem's voice cheerfully read her the copyright license, letting her know very seriously that theft was a crime punishable by fines or even five years jail time. Cha'cer grinned to herself. A bunch of suits pushed their way past her in the way that city folks did where no actual contact was made but she may as well have been shoved into oncoming traffic. Cha'cer wove her way through like a needle. She used that marvelous scourge-of-the-city look to play a game of chicken with everyone who expected her to step aside. It added a bounce to her step each time she won.

The walk to the liquor store she worked at wasn't far if you were comfortable taking alleyways. Which she wasn't, but she was late, so she tossed a coin at one of the elven beggars on the corner and traipsed merrily past the rotting dumpsters and fire escapes.

Alleyways in Haven somehow always managed to be damp-both in colour and in texture. Without sunlight reaching through the buildings, all sorts of nasty swamps pooled up in the dips and crevices, making the walk feel like venturing through a minefield. Some woman's voice warbled through her ear pieces telling her of the heroic Seekers-a company that still existed today!-and their honourable role in finding the inquisitor. Her Keeper had told it a bit differently back when she was alive. Keeper Dashana had insisted bitterly that the Dalish elf that stood for them all was a prisoner, tortured and used as a puppet for the Chantry's means. She spoke of the ancient Lavellan like they had grovelled for the acceptance of humans. A traitor and an enemy. Such was the only history their Keeper had ever seemed intent on losing to the ravages of time.

Prisoner or no, Cha'cer still admittedly found a little comfort in the story of Lavellan, It was her heritage, however distant, and in some way made her clan slightly more significant than the rest. With all the brand names and TV soaps dedicated to the life of Inquisitor Lavellan, you'd have thought the actual living clan received the red carpet treatment wherever they went. Quite the opposite. Failing to adopt the Herald of Andraste as their leader and new god, Clan Lavellan was depicted as ungrateful and vile. Notoriety was only slightly more useful than apathy, Cha'cer felt.

Though it was certainly hard to remember this when staring down the cracked glass door of the liquor store. It was coated so heavily in 'no soliciting' signs that it looked like the signs themselves were keeping the shack of a store standing under the weight of the old brick building towering above street level. Carved stone dragons perched on the edges like ugly fire hydrants and coated in the unforgiving piss of neighborhood dogs. Only a small doormat reading ' _anderan a'tish'an_ ' gave away the elvish ownership.

Cha'cer flicked her wrist to check her overly large watch. The hour hand was stuck in place, but the minute hand told her she was only forty minutes late.  _Not bad_.

She dropped her hood and reached into her bag to pause the cassette tape player. She took out her ear pieces and pushed the door in with her shoulder, scrubbing the bottoms of her boots off on the ancient elven words of hearth and hospitality. "Gahruil!" she called. "Don't fire me, I'm here!"

No answer. The register counter was as empty as the shop. Rows and rows of wines and whiskeys guided her as she made her way to the back room. She slung her jacket up on a crooked hook and ran a hand over the top of her head to smooth out her pitch black ponytail. The sides of her head where she shaved away the hair were starting to get fuzzy. She scratched at them and adjusted the thin silverite chains hanging from her long ears.

"Gaaary," she called the nickname affectionately. She swung around the open entrance to the storage rooms with one hand grasping the caulking just the way her boss told her not to. "C'mon, you can't seriously be sleeping.  _I'm_  the lovable delinquent, not  _you_. You're like the mildly tolerated and  _extremely_ grumpy father figure. Father only 'cuz I think you'd look dashing with a beard."

Cha'cer's eyes glowed a faint lilac in the darkness as she struggled to see. Gahruil had adamantly refused to change out the light bulbs ever since she'd been hired. Since only elves (she and Gary) worked in the shop, the darkness wasn't entirely detrimental. Plus it kept safety inspections from their shem landlords blessedly short. It did mean occasionally stumbling over an empty cardboard box, though. Cha'cer peered through the rows and rows of dusty bottles. Sparse scraps of light pierced through the metal shelving from the back of the building where the ventilation fan whirred. The shadows of the blades danced across the ground in a soothing rhythm. A larger figure moved through the light and Cha'cer called out again. "Is there are reason we're feeling particularly  _creepy_  today?"

She rounded the last corner to where they kept their kegs and found her boss sitting on top of a pile of crates. Next to her was a tank of a woman. Broad shouldered, dark hair cut short, and a jaw that could cut glass. She wore a standard Haven City Seekers uniform and her eyes locked on Cha'cer as soon as she stepped into sight in a way she didn't like. The woman's hand reached for the gun at her waist and Cha'cer bolted, thanking Gahruil with all her might for keeping the back room darker than an archdemon's maw.

She wove in an out of the rows of bottles, hearing the woman with a heavy Nevarran accent shouting something about her impending arrest. The sharp clink of bullets was followed quickly by the shattering of glass. She could hear Gahruil shouting something angrily but didn't bother to listen to either of them. Cha'cer threw the backdoor open and let it slam behind her. The heavy aluminum door bust open after her and she heard the click of the safety of the Seeker's gun. Cha'cer froze and raised her hands up slowly swearing beneath her breath.

The Seeker snapped the metal handcuffs on her wrist and wrenched her arms painfully behind her back. The woman wasn't even winded.  _Shit_.  _Fuck_. "Cha'cer of Clan Lavellan, you are under arrest for seven counts of theft, two counts of vandalism, and one count of identity fraud."

"Can't we just talk about it?" Cha'cer tried between puffs of air with her most winning smile. In reward she got to experience first hand exactly what it felt like to be punched by a Seeker.

…

II

The holding cell was dimly lit and filled, to absolutely no one's surprise, with elves. City elves mostly that were being held for illegal parking or "disturbing the peace". Several looked like disgruntled secretaries or delivery boys but none of them looked as scared as the kid in the corner. Judging by the neon paint at the tips of his forefingers the kid had been caught tagging. Probably on a dare or something equally stupid. But Maker forbid the rise of Dalish gangs.

Possibly the most ridiculous notion the shems had come up with yet. And their gangs were supposedly marked by coloured bandanas. Not, weirdly enough, by the ever present facial tattoos of the actual Dalish these city elves kept getting framed as. Either way it resulted in an all time high for tensions between the Dalish and the city elves.

Cha'cer wanted to scoot closer to the kid and let him know he'd be fine. Tell him that his loving parents would be home from their jobs soon and would pick him up without a second thought. Let him know that his ancestors watched over him and that his path would be guided by the stars. His nervous glances at her tattoos told her the gesture wouldn't be appreciated, so she settled instead for fiddling with the handcuffs that remained around her wrists.

When Saevin walked through the room, the shem guards struggled to keep up. She had a burgandy wrap covering her hair and ears and framing the dark vallaslin she wore. Bright green eyes were hooded in irritation and the world's heaviest anvil couldn't have kept her from keeping her chin and nose stubbornly high. The broad shouldered woman with the braid in her hair scrambled to stay in front of her until she literally grabbed the smaller elf by the shoulders and held her still.

"First Saevin," the Seeker said breathlessly. "What I mean to tell you is that your cousin is  _not yet_  free to go."

That was a mistake. A ripple of electricity shot through Saevin's shoulders as she finally gave the Seeker her attention. With a short sharp shock the Seeker jerked her hands back but kept one outstretched. Saevin ignored it coldly. "You mean to tell me that you will double charge me for bail? I may be Dalish, Seeker Cassandra, but I  _am_  familiar with the law."

Cassandra made a disgusted noise under her breath that earned her another small shock. She scowled at Saevin who stood still and expressionless to maintain her innocence. Cha'cer watched delightedly.

"What I mean to say, Saevin-"

"First Saevin."

"-yes, of course. First Saevin. Your cousin is free to go if she agrees to the community service charge  _and_ supervision of a parole officer." Cassandra jerked a finger to where Cha'cer let out a strangled cry of frustration.

"Done." Saevin said without hesitation. The Seeker nodded, producing a clipboard and a pen. Saevin signed it with a flourish and shoved the board back at the Seeker with a little more force than entirely necessary. Cassandra pulled the keys from the elastic ring she had looped around her belt and began unlocking the holding cell. Cha'cer was already standing, holding her wrists out expectantly.

Cassandra scowled and grabbed the handcuffs roughly, speaking as she worked. "The assigned parole officer will check in on you throughout the week-"

"-unannounced, uninvited, and usually without style. I know the drill." Cha'cer finished cheerfully.

"She will check on you for the next year." Cassandra said firmly.

"What?" Cha'cer squawked. Saevin crackled next to her.

"Let it go, lethallan, we can argue with the Seeker later," she urged, taking her cousin's arm in her own and guiding her gently away from the cell.

"Do I at least get to meet the schmuck I'll be making fun of for the rest of my life?" Cha'cer demanded. Cassandra's smile could've crashed a car.

"That schmuck would be me, Miss Lavellan. Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker for the city of Haven."

Cha'cer paled considerably and was suddenly all too interested in following Saevin's lead out of the precinct. Her cousin grumbled something about shem bullshit and unlawful, visible green electricity spanning from her eyes to her cheeks and around the fingers that clutched at the burgundy wrap. For once the smog filled city air was welcomed.


	2. Faux Pas

Saevin held the apartment door open for her cousin, the rusty hinges making a fuss under the pressure. As soon as she let go the heavy door slammed shut into the frame, shaking the wall a little. She curled a finger around the lightswitch on the wall and pale fluorescent lights buzzed to life in unprotected sockets over the kitchen and the small bare living room. A single fan blew air from underneath a tightly shut window overlooking a scrap yard filled with smoke and the loose fabric on the old couches that had once been the colour of aravel sails fluttered tiredly. Scrolls and old paintings leaned up against cracked walls, none of the dry wall safe enough to actually hang the art. A small shrine to Elgar'nan and Mythal stood in the corner. Tiny plastic statues surrounded by incense pots and fruit offerings. The smell was familiar and biting.

Cha'cer flopped down on one of the uneven couches and toed off her boots by the heels. They fell to the floor with a loud clunk and her cousin shot her an irritated look as she started undoing her head scarf. They were only cousins by technicality, to be honest, having both been adopted by Keeper Dashana as an attempt to keep Clan Lavellan from permanently dying out.

Neither were related by blood and it showed. Saevin's skin was a warm copper in comparison to her own milky pallor. Her hair was as black as Cha'cer's own and kept kept short and neat, tucked behind long ears. Occasionally one or two strands would break free and dangle on her cheek when she was worked up, but a flustered Saevin was a rare sight. Her green eyes radiated calm and control, even when sparks of electricity flew across her skin like they had at the precinct, there was nothing about it that seemed unintentional.

Of course it was unintentional. But First Saevin would be cold in the ground before she admitted to a shem that it was sometimes difficult to control lightning. Especially when she was emotional.

Like the storm was unraveled with the scarf, Saevin's calm demeanor vanished. She rushed over to Cha'cer's side and immediately grabbed her by the wrists to inspect the damage the handcuffs had caused. Healing magic poured through her fingertips into Cha'cer's skin and her nose scrunched as she worked.

"We could always flee to Denerim," Cha'cer offered lamely.

That earned her a puff of frustration. "And leave our ancestral home? I don't think so,  _lethallan_."

Cha'cer snorted. "Not really our ancestral home. Lavellan by technicality doesn't exactly brim with elvhen tradition."

Saevin stopped healing her and pursed her lips. Cha'cer flexed her wrists experimentally and tried to get away with just a teasing grin. Saevin was having none of it. She gave her the keeper look that threatened ten long meditation sessions and at least four lectures. And Cha'cer knew from experience that she meant it.

"Sorry." She apologized with a sigh. "That was uncalled for. It's just been one hell of a day."

"I imagine so," Sae said with a lifted brow. She sat back on her haunches and rested her weight on her thin arms. " _Identity theft_ , Cha'cer?"

Cha'cer fell back onto the couch with a thud and covered her face with a pillow. Saevin was on top of her in a heartbeat, wrestling the stained cushion away with surprising strength from her noodle arms. The pillow hit the wobbly coffee table and both crashed to the floor. Cha'cer groaned and covered her face with her hands instead.

"It was supposed to be a surprise." She mumbled through her fingers.

"Consider me  _surprised_."

Cha'cer wiggled her hands into the front pocket of her coat and found the cassette tape she had stolen with the tips of her fingers. She twirled it between her fingers hesitantly, re-reading the title again to make sure it was the right tape. They'd already confiscated her Tale of the Inquisitor thinking that had been the stolen goods. Hopefully the shopkeeper would be placated with that. Cha'cer frowned and clutched the plastic so that Saevin's curious eyes couldn't read the title.

"Promise you won't freak out?" Ch'acer asked hesitantly.

"Why would I—"

"Just promise." She insisted. Saevin nodded warily and gestured for Cha'cer to hand it over.

She placed the tape in Saevin's palm gently and waited. Her cousin's eyes scanned the thing meticulously, reading the fine print without difficulty. Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration and her lips tugged over to the side as she browsed the table of contents on the back. She blinked a couple times, then looked at Cha'cer. "I don't get it."

Cha'cer sighed and snatched the tape back. She found the chapter with Dalish history and tradition and pointed a finger at it to demonstrate. Saevin stared blankly. She tapped the case meaningfully. "Dalish traditions?" Saevin shrugged helplessly. Cha'cer groaned. "You know. Keeper shit?" Saevin scowled. Cha'cer tried to wave the words away. "No, no, like. Actual shit regarding Keepers. Ceremonies and rites. I was hoping there'd be something in there about, y'know. How to get you from First to Keeper."

Realization bloomed in Saevin's eyes and her jaw dropped. She clutched the tape tightly to her chest and let out a cry of delight. She hopped off Cha'cer's lap in a split second and dove into the satchel lying on the floor. She had the headphones out in a split second and the cassette player door open before Cha'cer could wrap her hands around Sae's and squeeze them.

"Hold on, hold on!" Cha'cer warned. "It's not… It's not the whole solution. It just tells you the mumbo jumbo you need to say and what the Elder Keeper needs to say n'stuff."

Saevin frowned. "But Keeper Dashana is…" The light in her eyes hollowed out again and Cha'cer felt her heart break a little.

"I know, Sae, it's not perfect but… But that's where the identity theft came in." She drew in a slow breath and pointedly avoided making eye contact with her cousin. "I may or may not have uh. Well. Impersonated her. Dashana, I mean. Er. Keeper Dashana."

"You  _what_?"

"Just once!" Cha'cer protested, not liking the shade of  _murder_ that had crept into Saevin's features. "And just for like, twenty minutes. Thirty tops. But it did let me get-" Cha'cer held up a finger with one hand and dug through her bag with the other. She produced a thin purple folder and handed it to her cousin. "-this.

Sae eyed it suspiciously, turning open the cover with a thumb and reading through the first couple of pages. Green eyes bulged from her head and she gasped audibly. Suddenly Sae's arms were around her neck in a brutally forceful hug and Cha'cer could feel the crackle of electricity thrumming along her cousin's ears.

"It's just some paperwork Sae, honest." She explained, voice a little hoarse from being pressed into her cousin's shoulders. "Nothing is official until there's a Keeper's signature at the bottom of the page but-"

Saevin released her and beamed. "Thank you, lethallan."

"-but maybe," Cha'cer continued experimentally, "it doesn't have to be Dashana. Y'know? There are loads of Keepers. Some of them are even nice. If you do all the right bows and say the right shit, I'm sure someone can sign the stupid piece of paper."

Saevin had already whisked the folder away and brought it to the pile of threats from the Circle. Intimidating shades of blue and pink official notifications warned the last First of Clan Lavellan that without a permit, she would have to join the Circle; somewhere Cha'cer could not follow. Without Sae, she'd lose the apartment to the waves of gentrification led by the Chantry and Seekers alike. It would mean homelessness and a life without family for them both. The world was not kind to elves still, though she supposed it never had been.

The folder was wedged neatly between a vaguely rusted coffee pot (another valuable dumpster find) and the metal tea pot Saevin kept. Her cousin was practically glowing. Cha'cer allowed herself a small smile. Surely a year of community service was a payable price to keep her family.

. . . . .

"A library," Cha'cer groaned. " _A library_? You may as well put me in a  _museum_."

Cassandra grunted in response, her hand firm on Cha'cer's shoulder, guiding her towards the car. Cha'cer's heels clicked against the parking lot concrete and she wobbled a little. The shoe's were Sae's, as was the dress, tights and damnable traditional flower headpiece. Sae had cooed over her and preened her hair insisting that she wear it down for once. It covered the shaved sides of her head and only barely reached past her chin in a sharp straight line. Sae tucked her forward most bangs back with a bobby pin that kept coming loose. She had insisted that the mixture of orchid blossoms and a great white lily was necessary to keep her hair pinned. Utter bullshit.

The dress, at least, was acceptable. It was a dark shade of purple (she'd vehemently rejected anything with floral patterns and nearly had a seizure when Sae offered to weave her a dress of blooms with her magic) and clung tightly to her waist and flat bust. The skirt brushed just an inch past her knees and kept out of the way for the most part as she moved. She did wish that she had her leather jacket, though. For one, it was freezing. Two, Cassandra gripped her shoulder like she was expecting the elf to be made of platemail.  _Entirely_  unnecessary. It's not like she could hope to outrun the tank of a woman. Even in her formal suit and sash Cassandra looked like a force to be reckoned with.

Cha'cer stopped mid step, relishing the way the bigger woman faltered. She knelt down and quickly undid the buckles of her heels, slipping her fingers through the straps to carry them instead. The ground felt like ice but it was oddly relieving after having stood for so long. She would have to tell Sae of the grievous wounds her shoes had inflicted.

"Can't we at least go home first so I can change?" Cha'cer asked, stumbling to keep up with the Seeker. "You can't seriously expect me to tour my first ever encounter with a fossil looking like this."

"You say that so smugly for someone who was caught stealing  _cassette tapes_." Cassandra's eyes slid to hers to make  _absolutely sure_  that the look of distaste had registered. It had.

"Don't be rude." Cha'cer chastised. "That's totally different. That's sentimentality. Unlike you, I  _have_  a personality."

"Ah yes," Cassandra said. "The  _schmuck_."

Cha'cer cringed. Cassandra let go of her shoulder only so that she could open the door to the back seat of her dark blue sudan. She feigned a tight smile, disgust still obvious in her eyes like she was daring her to make a break for it. She considered it, if just to be difficult, but decided to climb into the car after all. Cassandra made a face at the dirt covering the soles of Cha'cer feet, so she made a point to wiggle them on the nice plush carpetting inside the car with a big lopsided grin. The Seeker rolled her eyes and slammed the door shut. She poked a finger pad on the door handle and Cha'cer watched with alarm as it locked from the outside in.

Cassandra slid into the drivers seat with a huff and started the ignition. The car roared to life, dashboard blazing all sorts of different symbols that seemed awfully intimidating. She watched as Cassandra took the great leather stick and yanked it backwards until the car was purring under her touch. Smooth ride or not, Cha'cer was gripping the handle on the door so hard she felt pins and needles all up and down her arm. She would never admit to the Seeker that this was her third time in one of these ten ton metal death traps, but Creators she hoped this wouldn't be a frequent experience.

She swallowed dryly. "So… How long are you going to hold that schmuck think over my head?"

Cassandra snorted. "A full year, I suppose."

"A full year at a library." Cha'cer mused. "For stealing a cassette tape."

"Seven cassette tapes." Cassandra reminded her. "And several counts of graffiti, and identity theft-"

"Yes, yes, I was at the hearing. I'm well aware." She grumbled. "You shems make it sound like the end of the fuckin' world."

Cassandra's eyes found hers in the rearview mirror and glowered. "Crime is a big deal, Lavellan."

Cha'cer fell silent at that, not particularly wanting to explain her motives to the Seeker. If she had actually pulled off the stunt, Sae would've been able to find a proper job. They might even be able to move out of the projects. Cha'cer wasn't sure if even then she'd feel safe walking the streets without a switchblade in her pocket but it was a novel idea that someday it could happen. Saevin liked to remind her that hope was a powerful thing. The Inquisitor had found hope in the gift from the Creators and sealed the rifts without any prior knowledge. Divine influence, Dashana would have said. Or a Divine curse. It was hard to tell with elven gods.

Gods seemed so small next to the creations of man. Streetlights flickered on with magic and bathed the pavement in a warm orange. Glittering designs swirled and sparked around the bulb of the lantern in the nicer neighborhoods. Sometimes the colours would change to indicate time or for holidays. Beautiful vines clawed up the cracked alleyway walls as if to reclaim what had been stolen from nature. She pressed her face against the glass of the window and stared as they passed the towering structures. It was strange to think that Haven had once held the ashes of Andraste, or the destroyed camp of the Inquisition. So much had happened here; so much death. And now tropical flower shops and Antivan restaurants sold colourful foods from decorated glass windows. People bundled up in tight coats, unaware or uncaring that they walked over the graves of the most important people in Thedas history. Cha'cer tucked her head into her arm and sighed. If she were completely honest, Clan Lavellan died with Dashana. One simple street mugging and the last descendant of the Inquisitor was gone. Two orphaned city elves could only do so much to cling to history. Her fingers itched to find the buttons on her cassette tape player that was stored safely at home.

Cassandra's car swung easily into the spot closest to the door and for a brief moment, she hoped that the Seeker was dropping her off. She left her shoes in the car for safe keeping and a sign of good faith and stepped out onto the smooth parking lot. The library itself looked like it had survived the centuries of history and more. Ancient stone walls towered high and peaked in carved archways like an old fashioned Chantry. The windows were stained glass and dusty, the glass thinner in the middle like a half melted hard candy. No rugs were lain on the floor to soften her steps, so the sharp rapping of Cassandra's shoes on stone were echoed by the soft patter of bare feet.

Cha'cer suddenly felt very much like a Dalish stereotype and wished she had brought her shoes in with her. She pulled the wilted flower out from the pin and tucked it in her palm, eyeing the empty service counters stocked with ancient computer monitors the size of a tire. The shelves of books were further off behind carefully picked out sets of tacky reading chairs. On the wall to the left there was a refreshment stand. There was a neon pink slip of paper attached to the coffee pot that read 'indefinitely out of order'.

As far as she could tell, there was only one other person in the building. A tall man, an elf, with long thick dreads tied back into an orderly braid. He had on thin rimmed glasses and frowned at the bookshelves like they'd said something personally offensive. Judging by the extremely worn in jeans and faded green t-shirt, Cha'cer would've guessed local hipster or hobo until Cassandra waved to grab his attention. The man gave the Seeker a terse smile and gestured to the seats next to the shelves.

The Seeker's hand found her shoulder again and guided her to one of the floral patterned seats. Cha'cer swung her legs up over the armrest and eyed the man. His face was bare, so likely born and raised in the city. The charm he held around his neck could've made him a Circle graduate. That would be tricky. Most interesting though was his face. He was handsome for sure, but Cha'cer couldn't get a feel for his age. Older than her she assumed by they way he cradled books like children, but his skin was smooth-if pale. He had the tired look of someone who hated their job but none of the bitterness. It was like he had shut himself away from sunlight for so long he had forgotten its touch. When he finally turned his eyes to her and scanned her vallaslin with a strange look, she felt herself grip the flower arrangement in her hand more tightly and wishing that Sae was there.

The man ignored Cassandra and took a few careful paces to where she sat and Cha'cer stood up in a hurry. The way he held his shoulders back, she almost felt like she should've saluted. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Slender fingers took her hand and the flowers clutched inside. Something warm touched her palm and she looked down. Green wisps covered her hand and wove around the wilted petals gently. They urged the leaves to regain stiffness and colour rushed into the flowers like water seeping into the pores. The bloomed fiercely in her palm. Sae had never been able to bring a dead flower back. Cha'cer frowned.

"You are my newest ward, I take it?" The man asked. Cha'cer's eyes jerked up to meet his again, full of suspicion.

She searched his features for scars of vallaslin, but found none. Floral magic was often unique to each clan, Keepers and Firsts having specialties and favourites for ceremonies. Saevin was the most talented with the trick she'd ever come across so he… He  _must_ have been… Cha'cer's frown deepened. "Are you… Are you Dalish?" She asked.

"Is that a serious question?" He laughed. "Where else do you expect to find such parlor tricks? Surely the Circle would have me lecture you on the dangers of toying with  _flowers_."

His eyes sparkled but there was an odd resentment in his tone only thinly masked. Despite the admission, he held himself like a shem politician. Each gesture was calculated and smooth. Even his expression gave nothing away save the tracing the markings on her face with a carefully blank look. She wasn't entirely sure what his answer had meant. He seemed to find both ideas distasteful even as he admitted to being one of the People. A bare-faced Dalish mage. He had to have been a Keeper, then. Or a First, but... It was not impossible. He could have been adopted by one of the clans. Cha'cer shook her head and eyed him with great suspicion. "Anderan atish'an, haren. I am Cha'cer of Clan Lavellan."

There it was. As soon as she said 'Lavellan' the same look of revilement passed over his features. Then he was one of the People after all, Cha'cer thought bitterly. None hated the living legacy so much as the clans that envied their renown or the 'descendants' that lived off the Inquisitor's coattails. She jerked her hand out of his and looked to the ground instead. He seemed suitably embarrassed, but she doubted it was genuine. It felt strange to prefer the company of the Seeker to this Dalish man, but she did. Cassandra was at least honest in her disgust.

The man cleared his throat. "Abelas, lethallan. I spoke unfairly. It is an honour to meet you and you may call me Solas. I am not so old yet to find comfort in 'haren'."

Cha'cer snorted. "Always good to know the librarian is so full of life."

He looked affronted, but Cassandra stepped in with a reprimanding look. "Solas is your new boss," she said sharply. "His supervision over you will let us know when exactly you are ready to reintegrate into the rest of society."

A frown pulled on Cha'cer's face. "I thought this gig was for a year, tops."

"If everything goes well, yes," the Seeker said, ignoring the cry of protest. "Should Solas or I find your behaviour unacceptable then jail time is still on the table, Lavellan."

"You're fucking kidding me," Cha'cer snapped at Cassandra. The Seeker had let go of her shoulder in favour of handing Solas a hastily paperclipped stack of papers from under her arm. He flipped through them non-chalantly, completely unbothered by Cha'cer's rising panic."What about my  _real_ job? I can't just stay part-time forever! I have to  _eat_ and pay  _rent_. Or are Seekers above such worldly needs that they forgot how the rest of the fucking city works?  _I can't live off of volunteer work you fuckin_ -."

"May I remind you," Cassandra interrupted coldly, "that good behaviour is  _invaluable_ to you right now."

Cha'cer's mouth snapped shut but she felt the tips of her ears flush with anger. The freshly healed flowers in her hand crumpled under her grip and she understood with complete clarity how Saevin had difficulty containing herself. She steeled her nerves and stalked over to the nearest metal trash bin to angrily toss the petals as hard as she could, The soft thump was not nearly as satisfying as she had hoped and she half wanted to kick the damn bin across the floor. She stood there for a second, flexing her fingers and wishing badly that she could run, that she could scream at the Seeker until her throat was hoarse. Behind her she heard them speaking in hushed tones about her restrictions as if she were a child. As if she needed to be corralled and harassed into a 'better life'. Like she was supposed to find a solution to her problems here amongst entirely forgotten paperbacks and fossilized hardware with some old Dalish Keeper that-

Her hand froze mid-flex and the gears in her head clicked into place. If Solas was truly a Keeper, or even just a First, then he could endorse Saevin. He could sign the papers and no matter what happened to Cha'cer, Saevin wouldn't be taken away. They could finally pull in more than Cha'cer's pitiful income and maybe even start trying to restore the honour of the Clan. Maybe even pay off the last of her community service time. She swallowed hard. Was it worth the risk? He could just as easily turn her in for a five year term. The Divine Judge Justinia had been lenient in her sentencing, but Cassandra had made it all too apparent how quickly that could change. The Seeker's foot steps echoed as she left the premises and Cha'cer heard Solas clear his throat again. She turned to study him again at the invitation. The irritation on his face was plain, but he did not look mean. It was still too early to tell, but the way he tucked his hands behind his back and shifted his weight easily from foot to foot made him look gentle; controlled. She took the pin from her hair and tossed it into the trash bin behind her without looking and wrapping her hair back into the usual ponytail. His eyes fell on the shaved sides of her head and she watched him intently. He shifted his weight again when he caught her staring but she didn't look away.

"I believe we got off on the wrong foot, lethallan," He spoke carefully, like he was trying to avoid picking a fight with a bear.  _Good_. "If money is truly an issue for you, I will try to find some means of compensation."

A slow smile spread across Cha'cer's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again friends! Sorry this update took a million years.
> 
> Anyway, I've been thinking of something since I wrote Champion. I wanted to find a way to thank all the reviewers in a more personal way. Previously I've just been responding in a PM with thanks and thoughts, etc. Would you guys like it if I held a giveaway at the end of the fic? Each review would count as an entry. I could do something similar with favs or follows. I'm more than happy to write oneshots with you guys' heroes or draw art of them, I'm just not sure I could do it for absolutely everyone hahaha. Hence giveaway. I've already asked my FF.net followers the same thing, so I could run a separate thing here. I don't know. I just want to make sure you guys understand just how much I appreciate you. 
> 
> So let me know your thoughts and how you liked the update! As always, please for the love of god go read Where The Sky Will Be Kept. It's incredible and it's going to be complete soon.
> 
> Ok bye bye now.


	3. Omission

The pretense was ‘compensation’, but Solas was not in any position to deny his desire to leave the dusty library. He’d been attempting to re-organize the shelves for what had to have been the thousandth time (this time arranged in chronological order) when the Seeker and her prisoner had interrupted him. The Dalish girl was interesting, at the very least. She did not seem to have any respect for her predicament, or if she did she was not planning on showing it. The way her eyes had lit up when he’d mentioned payment was telling of her life in the city and it made whatever was left of his old heart ache for a time when the People had not yet fallen. It was a familiar feeling.

Unfamiliar was eating at a nice restaurant with someone _else_. The last time he had had the opportunity, Corypheus had bent Thedas over his knee. Even then the opportunity had been squandered and like his usual, Solas remained blissfully in the Fade or with the sole spirit that had found himself outside its borders. The Inquisitor had been far too fascinated with the games that came with politics to notice or regret his absence. Not that he was bitter, of course. The time for bitterness had passed nearly two thousand years ago. And there was nothing in the world quite like _uthenara_ to make you forget the friends you almost made.

In front of him, this _new_ Lavellan, _false_ Lavellan, slurped up noodles from a bowl filled with meats and vegetables. She had picked the most expensive pho available on the menu and had added every condiment she could get her hands on. Not that he had minded, he had promised compensation, but it was remarkable to watch such a tiny elf pack food away like a druffalo.

Her demeanor had warmed considerably since he’d suggested lunch but she had kept a carefully calculated distance away from him. He tested it only twice and stepped into the two foot bubble she kept and found her quickly moving just out of reach. She didn’t even seem to realize she was doing it, but it made her distrust of the world around her apparent. And told tales of the life she had led thus far that compensation in the form of noodles was as exciting as the prospect of being grabbed was terrifying.

“You’re staring,” she accused with a mouth full of food. She swallowed with visible struggle. “What’s throwing you off?”

“Excuse me?”

“What are you staring at?” She insisted.

He cleared his throat and pushed the leaves of his salad around with his fork. “Nothing, Lavellan. I was not intending to make you uncomfortable. I apologize.”

Her eyes narrowed. It wouldn’t have been so ominous without the thickly applied eyeliner and he wondered absently if that was the intended effect. She put her chopsticks down across the ceramic bowl and rested her chin on her palm. She studied him with the same intensity he’d been studying her with.

“Out with it, Keeper Solas.” She said. He cringed. Of all the lies he had told recently, that was the one he had regretted most. “Is it the hair? The tattoos? Or…” She scratched just under her ear and pretended to have an epiphany. “Perhaps it’s the _Lavellan_ bit that’s got your knickers in a bunch. So tell me, librarian. What did I do to personally secure the downfall of your clan?”

His eyebrows shot up. “I hardly suspected your involvement, da’len, and would ask that you refrain from the subject. I am not much of a Keeper without a clan.” 

She looked surprised, like she hadn’t expected to actually hit a sore spot. She hadn’t, of course. Solas was about as Dalish as Seeker Cassandra, but pretending your clan died in horrific ways prevented most shem from asking too many questions. Even if it did come at the cost of occasional Dalish gatherings. The food was _awful_. 

“I… uh. Shit.” She stumbled through her words awkwardly, light purple eyes locked on the steaming food in front of her. “Sorry. That was crass.” 

“It was,” he agreed, “But you were right. Lavellan is not an unknown name to me.” She watched him carefully, one eyebrow raised slightly and shoulders tensed as if she were ready to push away from the table and run. He knew the feeling well. “I imagine it cannot be easy to be compared to the dead or reminded constantly of their triumphs.” 

“Mm.” She picked up her chopsticks again and toyed with the oils swirling on top of the broth. “Something like that.” 

Her hands were thin and scarred like she’d scrambled up enough chain link fences to last a lifetime, discoloured around the wrists only faintly where handcuffs had marred her skin. The lines were only a faint red now, far too gentle to have gone without healing. Still his eyes were drawn the to vallaslin. Only the more traditional clans still wore them. Those that had tried to integrate into society instead wore charms or chains to represent the gods they still believed listened to their prayers. But he was long over feeling guilty for that transgression. 

The marks sat oddly on her features, like she had chosen them for decoration rather than a rite of passage. There was minimal scarring and the ink itself was an untraditional shade of purple. Still even with Ghilan’nain marking her face, he could hardly imagine the woman in front of him--the one that was trying whole-heartedly to fit a boiled tomato into her mouth in one go--tending to a herd of halla with any form of gentleness. 

“So crime was an escape then,” he ventured, noting her movements freeze at the mention. “It’s very difficult to paint you like an ancient hero when you douse yourself in the streets the Seekers pretend don’t exist. A life of crime would certainly do the trick.” 

Her eyes found his again, narrowed and trying to assess if he was a threat or not. “A life of crime,” she repeated slowly. 

“I have not forgotten the pretenses of your,” he paused to find the right word, “involvement.” 

She snorted. It quickly turned into a laugh and soon she was drawing the attention of the other restaurant attendees. “Ah, yes,” She said dramatically, waving her hand in some sort of fancy gesture. Solas frowned. “The sordid past. How ever am I to outrun it?” 

“I did not mean--”

“What? You did not refer to the poor life on the streets? Scrapping for bits of bread and weeping as the noble shems passed me by?” Her ponytail bounced with enthusiasm as she played up this fantasy. The way her voice bellowed suggested offense, but the sparkle in her eyes spoke otherwise. She was toying with him. “Did you not refer to my emotional scars? I am _wounded_ , Solas. _Hurt_ , Solas. Did you even read the fucking case file?”

“Well, no. I skimmed.” He admitted. 

“You skimmed.” She said knowingly. “So as far as you’re aware, I’ve committed several gruesome murders, stolen a whole orphanage worth of children and spent my down time fucking halla in the middle of the Haven subway system.” 

Solas laughed, despite himself. “And have you?” 

She grinned. It was a crooked thing, spreading across her face haphazardly and carefree. “No, but that’s not the point. You can’t lord my criminal history over me without even knowing what it is.” 

“Alright.” He held his hands up in surrender as she took a huge bite of one of the roast pork slices. “Then how would you proceed were you in my place? Eating lunch with a potentially dangerous criminal that I am to be saddled with for at least a year, and you suggest I proceed without caution?” 

She rolled her eyes. “No, you ass. For starters, you should have read the case file if you were that worried.” 

“Who said I was worried?”

She snorted. “What, fight dangerous criminals all the time then, _ha’ren_?" 

“ _Solas_ ,” he corrected. _Not as much as I used to._  

“ _Whatever_. You should’ve read the file.” She pointed at him with the ends of her chopsticks. “Or, and I know this is _crazy_ , but you could just fuckin’ ask.” 

He frowned. “Ask who about what?”

“Ask _me_ about my _dangerous criminal history_ , you twat.” She laughed again. It was a sound he was unused to but he liked it. It felt like camaraderie and campfires in the Hinterlands. “Shit, ask anything you want. Like you said, I’m saddled with your sorry ass for a year. Don’t tell me you want to be strangers the whole time, yeah?” 

Something dangerous glinted in the corner of her eyes and her carefully schooled neutral expression. It reeked of Orlesian politics and underhanded tricks. She wanted something. The look ill-suited such honest eyes, but Solas played along. Far be it from him to impede oncoming disaster. He had a knack for amplifying it, in fact. _Why stop now?_  

“Alright, Lavellan. What is this sordid past of yours?” He took the opportunity to actually eat some of the salad he’d been playing with and watched her recount her crimes on the tips of skinny fingers. 

“Seven cassette tapes, a bit of graffiti--there was this one time with a bus--well, you probably wouldn’t care about that,” She flinched suddenly as if hit and her eyes found his as she choked on words. “And well, uhm.” She swallowed. “The last one isn’t important.” 

_A poor liar, then_. Solas smiled easily. “That was when you fucked the halla, I assume.” 

She laughed loud and without restraint. “So, _ha’ren_ has some humour in him after all!” 

“ _Please_ , Lavellan,” He repeated, “Just Solas. No need for formalities.” 

She watched him like he was a riddle waiting for her to say just the right words. He leaned back in his chair and let her. It had been a long time since he had played this game and he knew better than anyone the dangers of manipulation. She set her chopsticks down beside the mostly emptied bowl and bit her lip thoughtfully. 

“You sure?” She asked. “Not going to put me in jail for disrespect or something?” 

It occurred to him then that that may have been the only favour she was after. That could’ve been what she wanted from his friendship. It would be unbelievably easy to convince the Seekers of her guilt and rid her of her freedom. Of course, Solas would never dream of such a course of action but she didn’t know that. She barely knew where her next meal was coming from. Perhaps he had overestimated her motives. 

Solas smiled to put her at ease and nodded. “I would _never_.” 

 

. . . . . .

 

Dusk fell hours ago and the light that poured in through the library windows was artificial and cold. It was familiar, though Solas had grown weary of wishing it were not so. He walked barefoot around the library in an old green tunic that hung loose around the shoulders. Cole followed him with the books he couldn’t carry, offering each one before Solas ever had to ask. It was an old companionship that even a thousand years had not changed. He wondered often if that was his own refusal to let memories fade that kept Cole glued to him. 

The spirit made no noise when he walked so that only Solas’ footsteps echoed in the otherwise empty library. As per city law, the building was public property and thus the electricity was cut to save expenses every night after about eight. It used to annoy him but after Cole had suggested a veilfire torch the dark hours felt more nostalgic than anything. He swapped Cole for the books and handed the spirit the torch as he sorted the books. 

“She ticks like a clock, warm, smiles and laughter. This is new.” Cole appeared perched on top of the shelf Solas was working on, feet dangling a few inches from some priceless copies of Haven historical records. Were the boy corporeal it may have been a problem, but Solas was used to him appearing and disappearing in odd patterns.   

“Yes, I suppose it is,” Solas said. “Suspicious even if pleasant.” 

“She is pleasant?” Cole asked. 

Solas frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“Black hair, purple eyes, lipstick darker than pitch and teeth like a predator. You have teeth like hers.” Cole bared his teeth to demonstrate. Solas snorted and bared his own teeth in response. 

The spirit’s eyes widened under the wide brimmed hat and he vanished from top of the shelf, taking the light with him. Dull green light thrummed from his personal office, leaking under the shut door and reflecting through the great glass window. Solas watched him for a second with the pile of books still in his arms to see if he’d return. Cole had apparently found the small Dalish shrine again and was toying with the incense sticks. The librarian set the books down defeatedly and followed the boy instead. 

“Cole, we have already discussed religion and how it warps spirits from their original essense,” he repeated for the umpteenth time, but the spirit was not listening. 

His hands ghosted over the statue of Mythal. It was an untraditional piece, but the only one Solas could stomach. Most statues portrayed her as a silent guiding figure and ignored the legends of her wrath. This one had her balancing scales in one hand and holding the head of a dragon in the other. Slightly more accurate. The incense sticks in the pot beside her still were wrapped in their original plastic packaging. Cole pressed the tips between his fingers until the clear wrapping crinkled. Solas sat beside him wearily.

“Bright. So bright. She is unquenchable and furious.” Cole’s voice barely rose above a whisper but still conjured the image of his friend and mentor like she had died yesterday. “She is not forgotten. She is whole.”

“Of course she is not forgotten.” The words came out harsher than he intended but Cole didn’t seem to notice. One hand still hovered over the statue. Solas reached over it and pulled it back. Cole’s watery blue eyes found his again and he curled in on himself. It was such a boyish action that it was difficult to remember the days when Cole fought fiercely at his side. Solas sighed. “I am not angry, Cole.”

“No, you are the Dread Wolf,” the spirit replied easily. Solas smiled.

“I’m afraid that hasn’t been true for a while,” he said. “Not much use for a rebel god anymore. There’s no place for a pantheon in this world.” Solas’ eyes fell to Mythal’s figure again. It seemed so pointless. Everything did. All he had done and everything he had wanted was crushed just the same under the heel of the actual inhabitants of Thedas. The world was rotting and he couldn’t tell if it was his fault or not. “Perhaps that is for the best.”

“You gave up.” Cole accused. “You could still help. You could help _her_.” 

Lavellan’s face came to him clearly as if Cole had willed it. She had the will of a soldier and the shackles of a slave. In another time he would have lifted her out of her world without a second thought. “I can’t do that anymore, Cole.” Solas said. “People have to learn to help themselves.” 

“She can. She _does_. That does not stop _you_.” 

Solas’  lips pressed into a thin line. He plucked one of the sticks from the incense pot and pulled it from its wrappings. He gestured and the tip burst into green flame. Carefully so as not to burn himself, Solas planted the ceremonial piece back in the ash pot as the twirls of smoke wove through the air above Mythal. It appeased Cole enough that he vanished again but he left the veilfire torch behind him. As soon as the torch hit the floor the light went out, leaving the false Keeper alone with his memories.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Another update for you. Sorry this fic is taking a bit longer to update than my usual. I’m actually trying to build an intricate world for this one and hopefully I’ll be able to capitalize on that. We’ll see! If all goes according to plan, this fic will end up being twice as long as Champion and with ten times the plot content. Idk, it just doesn’t seem right to write a simple love story for Solas and Lavellan, y’know? It’s gotta be complicated and messy. 
> 
> Anywho, for those of you craving updates or snippets of fics that may or may not get published, you should come hang out with me on tumblr (ingredient-x). I post all sorts of scraps and art that will likely never reach FF or AO3. Plus, I take prompts. So c’mon, come be my friend.


	4. Accident

_Elves draped in robes finer than silk and gold lacing their throats pulled her in and swayed her to the tune of a lute just out of sight. They held her close, hands soft and strong on her waist. A man mumbled something sticky sweet in elvish she didn't understand. His voice was a drowned warning against the tide of dresses and vests and sweet melodies turning sour. Their voices whispered around her and she scrambled to find a hand to take hers in the next dance, and the next, and the next until she was stranded in the center of the golden room clad in jeans and a ratty sweater._

_Their eyes watched her cruelly and their words rang clear like thorns. She was not one of them, she was a joke. Her magic fell limp and graceless, like an apostate. A shem apostate. Nothing but a wild city rodent playing at grandeur. Saevin cried out in protest, but they laughed and laughed. Their eyes grew smaller and the shems suddenly taller. Circle mages and seekers stared until she felt naked,_ was _naked._

 _Gnarled knuckles paler than bone and stiffer than dry wood cracked and curled around the green of the fade beckoning Saevin closer. She felt small, so small next to the shem woman. Mother, she called herself in a voice like spiced honey. Her eyes were unclear but they burned on Saevin's skin. She concentrated on her own hands, slender and elvish. This woman was not her mother. This_ demon _was not her mother._

 _Circle mages surrounded her like barbed wire fence posts, hissing hot to the touch and humming their disapproval. The woman's voice--The demon's voice beckoned her. She promised safety and greatness. The return to glory for Clan Lavellan if only, if only,_ if only _. The mages got closer, their hands outstretched and Saevin couldn't feel her own scream. She tried to weave the green mist into sparks, into something but flowers fell harmlessly to her feet. The woman laughed, deep and dark and her eyes burned._

 _The ground beneath her shook and gave way to the void, blacker and blacker as she fell. The woman's voice howled with laughter and swirls of purple and green followed her._ Leap _, she screeched._ Learn if you can fly, my child _! Saevin shut her eyes and dragged her hands over her ears feeling her nails break the skin. She muttered Keeper Dashana's protection spells like a mantra. She promised,_ she promised _\---_

Saevin woke up shaking and breathless. A cold sweat beaded her brow and shook her to her core. Beside her, Cha'cer snored loudly, a puddle of drool leaking from her cheek onto the pillow. Saevin watched her and traced the markings on her face in the dark. She traced her own gently, thinking of the demon's calloused hands with a shudder. It was hard to remember that she was in control of her dreams on the bad nights, but she had to. She had no Keeper to watch her, and a clan to lead. A small clan, she thought, looking at her cousin again, but a clan nonetheless. Steel resolve warmed her slowly and her breathing evened.

The clock on the nightstand blinked 4:53. She sighed and smoothed her sleep mussed hair. Carefully she untangled her limbs from the scratchy blankets and slid her feet to the floor. She moved silently through the bedroom, shifting through stacks of folded laundry placed on the bare floor until she found a warm robe and some socks. Saevin stifled a yawn with the back of her hand and shuffled out to the kitchen barely a few steps outside the closed bedroom door.

She lifted the counter-top water boiler with both hands to see if it had enough water in it. Satisfied with the weight, she set it back down on its plastic stand and pressed the orange button at the base. The little light blinked to life where it had been haphazardly taped back into place and she moved to the cupboards to pick out a suitable mug. On the top shelf sat an ancient clay teapot. It lacked carvings or paint but it had been a gift from Dashana. For all she knew, the old Keeper had picked the thing up at a kid’s garage sale but the practice of oiling it down to keep it from cracking offered some ceremony. She stood on her tippy-toes to reach for it and had the base hooked under one finger when she felt breath on the back of her throat.

Saevin nearly threw the relic. She caught it just barely and grasped it close to her chest like a shield as she spun around. Nothing but the refrigerator stood behind her. Her grasp on the teapot lessened slightly and she leaned her weight on the counter behind her. The shem woman’s voice still rang clearly in her ears and the claws of an archdemon threatened to yank her heart out through her feet. Saevin set the teapot down on the counter, out of her shaky hands. Behind her something scraped against the floor. Her spine turned to ice and she felt the eyes of the woman on her shoulders. She had lightning in her palms when she turned around again only to find her cousin staring at her sleepily.

“Nightmares again?” Cha’cer seemed unphased by the lightning. It could’ve been the haze of sleep still sticking to her lilac eyes, but Saevin was willing to put money on routine. This incident made it the fifth time this month.

She retracted the lightning back into her skin and wrapped her arms around her chest. Her cousin’s pale hand patted her shoulder in a brash attempt at comfort. Saevin busied herself with pulling the two matching clay cups out of the cabinet along with the ornate oiled cloth to wipe them down with. Her hands still visibly shook. If Cha’cer noticed when she took the cups from her grasp, she didn’t comment.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Saevin’s voice was barely above a whisper. It felt somehow dangerous to raise her voice any further at such an hour. A superstition, she was sure, but she wasn’t willing to risk it at the moment.

Cha’cer shrugged, placing one rubbed down cup in front of the rumbling water boiler. “I was mostly awake anyway.”

“You were _drooling_.”

“Which is not restricted to sleeping.” Cha’cer grinned and Saevin snorted. “I’ll have you know that I’m capable of drooling at all hours.”

“I believe it.” Saevin nodded solemnly. A small smile pulled at the edges of her lips and the demon woman seemed further away with her cousin awake to ground her in reality.

Stress permeated the kitchen at the agonizingly slow speed of the boiling water. Steam hissed through the lid of the boiler. Acutely aware that she was dangerously close to lecture territory, Cha’cer went out of her way to avoid eye contact. Her slender form was crammed between the door of the pantry and its frame, whacking the door on her thigh contemplatively. Her eyes scanned the rows and rows of canned vegetables. She paused briefly on the sack of rice and risked a glance at Saevin. Saevin jumped to life, pretending not to have been standing there staring stupidly at her cousin. She poured the boiling water with great care not to splash the outside of the clay.

“I could get you pardoned, you know.” Saevin said. She didn’t have to be looking to know that Cha’cer stiffened. She focused on the tea. “That horrid Seeker woman offered to grant me a pardon. It would clear your record, too.”

“A pardon for what?” Cha’cer snorted. “Unless you’ve taken up a life of crime within the last twenty-four hours, I think you’re in the clear.”

Saevin approached her with the hot mug. Cha’cer’s hand darted out to grab it and nearly rammed her fingers through the damn clay. Saevin side-stepped her and scowled. “Would you be careful, _lethallan_? And you know very well what kind of pardon.”

Cha’cer took the mug carefully this time. In another life, her slender fingers could’ve been a sign of grace or beauty. The calluses that hardened the edges of her knuckles and the cracks of dry skin spoke instead of a life in the working class. It almost hid the scars still jagged from days when dumpster diving hadn’t just been an odd quirk. Some habits were hard to kill. Her cousin stared at the tea, not drinking. The steam turned her nose a pale pink.

“You’re not honestly telling me you’re considering this, Sae.” She said quietly.

Saevin ignored the pang of guilt in her stomach and straightened her shoulders. While she wasn’t much taller than her cousin, jutting her chin out just enough to resemble her late Keeper let her look through slightly narrowed eyes. She drew her own mug into her grasp and tried to keep her voice as even as possible. “Of course I’m considering it. We are low on options, _da’len--_ ”

“Da’len? _Seriously_?” Cha’cer protested. “I’m older than you, _ha’ren_.”

“--and I would like to consider everything--

“You fuckin’ _want_ to go to the circle? What about Clan Lavellan?”

“--could still survive without my guidance, Cha’cer.” She said firmly, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid her cousin’s outrage. “I am no more fond of this than you are, but you can’t tell me things aren’t looking dire. I would be a foolish Keeper if I didn’t at least try to understand the options we currently have.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you _aren’t_ a Keeper yet, isn’t it?” Her words bit like venom and she knew it. Now Sae stared at her own tea like a scolded child while angry lilac eyes studied her.

Cha’cer puffed out a sigh. Her cousin ran one hand through her scraggly black hair, bunching it at the back of her head where her ponytail hung and scratching the sides of her scalp where it was shaved close. She set the mug of untouched tea down on the counter. “I’m sorry, Sae.”

“ _First_ Saevin.” She said quietly. The anger returned to Cha’cer’s eyes like a shock of electricity but she stilled her tongue.

“Of course. _First Saevin_. Excuse me, _ha’ren_.”

She left her tea on the counter and stalked back to the bedroom leaving Saevin alone with her tea and her tradition. The door shut with a quiet click and she heard the thud of her cousin flopping onto the dingy old mattress and saw the ripples in her tea as proof. Again, the breath of the demon woman ghosted over the back of her neck and Saevin scratched it away.

 

. . . . .

 

The never-ending pile of books seemed to restock itself every time Cha’cer dared to blink. She had sorted the stack out into towers, each tower corresponding to a different level of the library. It at least saved a few trips to make only a couple runs up to the eighth floor with about thirty books than thirty separate runs with one book. That aside, she was undoubtedly getting more cardio in than she ever had while she was stuck in Gary’s dusty wine dungeon.

Solas had looked surprised when she kept motioning for him to put more books on the stack in her arms, but she’d just grinned and told him it was nothing compared to carrying around a box of scotch in crystal bottles. He’d lifted an eyebrow but hadn’t added a comment.

Truth be told she hadn’t actually seen the librarian for a couple hours. The library was big enough and empty enough that she was positive they could avoid each other forever if she wanted. It was eerie to be in a place so full of silence. Sometimes it had her wondering if he’d simply left to let her finish out her chores alone. It seemed plausible enough save for the ever refreshed counters full of books that needed to be filed away.

Every once in a while, she thought she’d see something out of the corner of her eye. Something green and tall but she’d turn and there was nothing. It was probably just lack of sleep. And horrible guilt. She assured herself that waking up in the middle of the night to yell at her only family was probably far beyond normal, irreparable and she’d be homeless by the time she went back to the apartment that evening. The rational voice in her heart told her that Sae was more likely to give into a sloth demon than ever let that happen but guilt still clawed at her heart like hungry ants.

She pushed the last book in her armful into place with a long suffering sigh and rested her head on the musty old books. Her eyes fluttered closed and for a second she stayed there in the stillness of the library. Her left hand flexed open and closed habitually and she slowed her breathing. It wasn’t a traditional meditation by any means, but it was comforting. It lulled her back into the safety of silence and the temporary vacation from Haven. Warm fingers twined through hers and she squeezed, relishing the soft touch.

Cha’cer’s eyes flew open. She yanked her hand to her chest in terror and looked around frantically to see who’s hand (Mythal, she hoped it had been a hand) she had been holding. Something thin and dark slashed through the air just behind the bookcase. Her feet took wobbly steps toward it, denying her racing heart the refuge she’d almost found.

“Hello? Solas?” She called uneasily.

“I am here, Lavellan.” He responded, but his voice was distant, somewhere downstairs. The dark thing moved again this time with green at the edges. Cha’cer pressed her back flat against the metal bookshelf. Her fingers grasped the spine of a thinner hardback and she drew the book to her chest like a flimsy shield. Solas’ voice rang out again. “Is everything alright?”

She saw the shadow of a boy dart to the left a few rows back and took off after him. Large watery blue eyes and a hat like a scarecrow met her for just a second and vanished just as quick. She staggered to a halt, eyes scanning the room for signs of movement. The scuffle of a boot to her left and she saw the the tip of his raggedy pants as he disappeared towards a dark room with a glass panel. Green light flared to life like a flame and died out as she moved. Her feet carried her without her permission, moving her closer to the strange boy. She halted her hand inches above the door knob. The brass felt cold even without touching          it and she couldn’t tear her eyes from the glass. Saevin had warned her about demons appearing innocent, about strange magical tears that sopped up energy around Haven. Traces of the Inquisitor, she said. Extremely dangerous or utterly harmless and there was no way to tell.

 _First Saevin_ wasn’t here, though.

Cha’cer gripped the handle and turned it until it clicked. She slid inside the small study room. The smell of incense and something denser flooded the air thick as smoke. She coughed loudly and heard the door shut with a slam behind her and swung out wildly with her book. Ice clenched around her heart and she felt her stomach drop to the floor as frost covered the metal handle and froze the room shut. She dropped the book and clawed at the door knob frantically, pulling back with a hiss when the metal was hot enough to burn. She cried out and stepped away from the door.

Warping green glow touched the edges of her peripheral vision and she spun around. She was acutely aware of how defenseless she was. Her fingers itched for something to hold and lash out with but she was met with emptiness. On the floor, a cracked clay ball with swirls hummed and vibrated the floor with power. She watched it and felt her breath catch in her throat.

“ ** _Keep the sacrifice still_** ,” a booming deep voice resonated from the broken orb and the pieces rose in the air. Cha’cer’s feet once again moved without her permission, drawing her closer to the glow. She strained against the movement, but her hand reached out, ignoring her cries.

“What’s going on here?” She screamed, looking frantically around the room for Solas, for the boy, for anything.

Green flames licked up the sides of the walls and spun into a whirling mess on the ceiling. No eyes peered from the rips in the fade but she felt them on her all the same. The tugging stopped and she stilled a meter or so from the orb. It had lifted almost high enough to touch the ceiling, and beamed down at her like a sword to her throat. She couldn’t look away. The green sank away to be replaced with a horrible red. The pieces clung to each other, ignoring the grinding of stone and binding together with something that felt deeply wrong. The orb  flashed and hurled itself from where it hovered. Cha’cer screamed again and drew her hands up to cover her face.

The red glow hissed and thrashed when it touched her raised palm, searing into her skin. She shoved as hard as she could and the orb fell crashing to the ground, splitting in two. The colour drained from the room and fell silent enough for Cha’cer to hear her own heavy breathing. She sat trembling on the floor, unsure how she got there and afraid to look at her palm. She clenched her fist shut tight enough to turn her knuckles white and looked to the door. The frost was dripping off the metal handle, but the door itself was blessedly ajar. She pushed herself to her feet and bolted.

 

. . . . .

 

Solas started climbing the stairs towards the eighth floor the second he heard Cha’cer call out. There was an edge of panic to her voice that didn’t bode well. He saw only the end of the green light from the shrine room and felt the pulse of his own magic shredding its way through the air. The door sagged open and she emerged looking paler than he had thought possible, eyes wild and her fist clutched close to her chest. Solas almost stopped breathing.

“Are you alright, lethallan?” He asked cautiously. She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of him and quickly backed up against the wall. When the glass touched her skin she jolted again looking for all the world like she wanted to take off running. He held up his hands to show he wasn’t a threat and approached her slowly. “Did something happen?”

Her mouth opened like she was trying to speak but no sound came out. She shook her head and moved to run her hand through her hair. As soon as her palm was eyelevel her eyes widened the size of plates and she yanked her fist back to her chest and wrapped it up in her jacket. It was a gesture Solas hadn’t seen in thousands of years and hoped, _dearly hoped_ he was wrong. 

“Are you injured?” He tried, taking slow steps towards the frightened elf. Her eyes were pressed as flat and down as they could go and strands of her hair were shaking loose from her ponytail. She looked like she’d been at the forefront of a hurricane. If Cole had been as stupid as he expected… He took another careful step towards her until he could grasp her gently by the shoulders. “You’re _alright_ , Lavellan. Just tell me what happened.”

Her eyes studied his, narrowing in thought. She chewed her lip and fell limp in his grasp. The ashen colour in her cheeks looked horribly familiar, the pulsating magic coming from her clenched palm even more so. He moved his hand down her left arm, trying to gently pry the wrist from her jacket. _Mistake_.

She pulled herself out of his grip with a mumbled frantic apology and took off towards the stairs. The air behind her moved like a heatwave, mirroring the floor and flowing out behind her like a wake. Solas swore under his breath and took off after her. “Lavellan, _please wait!_ I can _help!_ ” He called, but he was too fast.

She jumped down the staircases entire flights at a time, hitting the walls of the landing with her shoulder. He was only halfway down the fourth floor when he saw her leap over the stairs railing, black ponytail flying out behind her and crash hard onto the ground floor. “ _Cha’cer!_ ” He cried again, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice.

She picked herself up off the floor and looked at him with fear plain on her face. He saw her mouth something that looked like _‘sorry’_ before she sprinted for the door. Solas slammed his fist into the stairs railing. She was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry it took so long to update. I’ve gotten so wrapped up in watching the ending bits of Where the Sky Will Be Kept that I barely even remembered my other projects. And speaking of, if you love Cha’cer and Saevin, you really ought to go read that fic. It’s by Nebulad and it’s almost over. You will laugh, cry, and then read it again because it’s so amazing. 
> 
> Anyway thanks for all the reviews and encouragement! It means the world to me. You guys are the greatest.


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